


your body talks

by bilexualclarke



Series: The 100 Kink Meme [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Kink Meme, jealous!Bellamy, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 12:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17601044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bilexualclarke/pseuds/bilexualclarke
Summary: It’s just another one of their games. Bellamy might make more of an effort to control his temper if he didn’t know how much it really got his girl going. If everyone thought he was an asshole because of it, he really didn’t care. Whatever Clarke likes, he likes.prompt: there's a general understanding around camp that if anyone so much as touches Bellamy's girl, he'll break their hand so they won't touch her again. and Clarke finds she gets really turned on when Bellamy's jealousy makes him violent, so she purposefully seeks out situations that'll get him all riled up





	your body talks

_You can pretend you don't wanna know_   
_But I read the signs from your head to your toes_   
_Yeah, you don't need to say a word 'cause_   
_Ooh, ooh, your body talks_

-[Body Talks by The Struts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GcvBnhq0lFA)

* * *

 

 

After four years on the ground, winter still creeps up on them. Clarke leaves the medbay later than usual one night, cursing herself for not thinking to grab her deerskin cloak off the little knob behind the cabin door. She wraps her arms tight around herself as she walks, her chin dipped low and eyes narrowed to protect from the bitter chill. The walk back home isn’t too long, but long enough where the cold seeping in through the holes in her sweater makes it feel like an eternity.

 

“Hey, Griffin,” someone calls to her as she hustles past the blacksmith’s quarters. The door is open, a man leaning against the frame. She’s nearly home, but Clarke can feel the heat of the forge, strong and inviting, and she finds herself moving toward it automatically.

 

“Hi, Mitche,” she says, ducking past him into the entryway. She stands in front of the fire, her body immediately relaxing. “God, this is amazing. I’m in the wrong line of work.”

 

“Try saying that in a heat wave,” Mitche laughs. He comes to stand next to her, close to the flames. The man is about her age, with a wiry build and sandy hair. Always a friendly face to see around camp. “Now, what kind of example are you to the rest of the camp if you catch your death on your way home?”

 

“Give me a break,” Clarke says, knocking his shoulder with hers. “I would have been fine.”

 

“Your blue fingers say otherwise.”

 

“Oh, shut up.”

 

Mitche laughs, angling his body closer. “You should hang out here for a bit.” He takes one of her hands in his, making a show of examining her fingertips. “Make sure you’re out of the woods of frostbite.”

 

“That’s nice, Mitche, but I really should be heading-”

 

“ _Clarke_.” The door swings open, and a gust of frigid air with it. Clarke yanks her hand back, whipping around to see Bellamy standing in the doorway. He has his own buckskin cloak draped around his shoulders, and hers clenched in his fist.

 

“Bellamy!” she fits herself against his side immediately, the heat of his body doing more for her than the fire ever could. “How did you know I was here?”

 

“Came home and you weren’t there. Was on my way to the clinic when I saw you through the window,” he says gruffly, tucking her under his arm. His eyes are on Mitche, who is meeting his gaze with an equal glare, but his voice is softer as he addresses her. “You can’t forget your cloak, baby.”

 

“Thank you for bringing it for me,” Clarke says softly, squeezing his hand. Instead of giving her her own cloak, Bellamy instead shrugs his off and wraps it around her shoulders. It’s warmed from the heat of his body, his scent clinging to the furs. As he swings hers over his shoulders, Mitche catches their attention.

 

“He always keep you on such a tight leash, Griffin?”

 

A beat.

 

“Excuse me-”

 

“ _What did you say_?” Bellamy snaps, striding forward until they’re nose to nose.

 

“I was talking to Clarke,” Mitche says.

 

“And now you’re talking to me.” Bellamy takes another step forward, forcing Mitche back. Though the other man is an inch or two taller, Bellamy is all broad shoulders and hardened muscle. Mitche could have a whole foot on him and Bellamy could still snap him in half.

 

“Bellamy, let’s just go,” Clarke tries, yanking his arm. He tucks her behind him.

 

“You can’t even let her walk home without flipping out,” Mitche spits, though his confidence is slightly lessened. “You scared that if you give her an inch of space she’ll realize she can do better than a murderer?” He punctuates his words by raising his hands to Bellamy’s chest, shoving him back.

 

_Well, fuck._

 

Bellamy grabs Mitche’s arm and twists it behind him, bringing him to his knees in one fluid motion. Taking a fistful of his hair, Bellamy forces his face over the fire. Mitche gasps at the heat and tries to squirm back, but Bellamy keeps him firmly in place.

 

“If you ever lay a hand on Clarke again, if you even so much as _look_ in her direction, I’ll break both of your hands.” He presses him down farther, close enough to the flames that Clarke has a feeling her mother will be treating his burns in the morning. “Or maybe I’ll just kill you. I am a murderer, after all.”

 

With that, Bellamy lets him go. Mitche slumps to the ground, clutching the side of his face. Clarke feels bad for a fraction of a second, but once Bellamy turns to look at her, eyes nearly feral, all she can feel is burning desire. He grabs her hand and drags her home.

 

She comes so hard that night that she soaks their sheets all the way through to the mattress. Bellamy doesn’t let up, pounding into her until her legs tremble and she has to beg him to come, scared she might pass out if they go any longer. The next morning, she can barely walk, the burning in her legs and soreness in her cunt a constant reminder of the man who loves her.

 

Word spreads quickly around camp, as it does with everything. Mitche’s face scars and blisters, and whenever Clarke enters the mess hall he grabs his plate and makes a dash for the door. Sometimes when she catches his eye she feels a pang of sympathy, but it is quickly forgotten. Everyone with half a brain knows that Clarke is Bellamy’s, and Bellamy is Clarke’s. There is no one on the whole planet who could make either one of them look twice at someone else.

 

However, that doesn’t mean that certain people aren’t stupid enough to try.

 

There’s something about Bellamy’s possessive side that really turns Clarke on, and so from time to time she’ll goad him a bit. Strike up a conversation with Natalia, Raven’s newest protégé-slash-fuckbuddy, let the woman put a hand on her thigh. She wears Bellamy’s cum on her face and tits that night.

 

Asks Henry, who’s repairing storm damage to the east gate, to help her collect some herbs from the garden. His basket is barely half full before it’s ripped out of his hands and Bellamy is there with his jaw locked and his eyes burning. He sends Henry back to work with a shove and some tongue-lashing and finger fucks Clarke behind the greenhouse.

 

Casually mentions to Cameron, one of Bellamy’s cadets, that she’s had such an ache in her shoulder. They’re on line in the mess hall, and she arches her back as she says it, feigning discomfort but pushing her tits out invitingly. She can feel Bellamy’s eyes on them from his place at their table. Cameron nearly trips over himself with his offer to massage the knots out, hands already on her shoulder. Clarke smiles to herself when she hears Bellamy’s thundering footsteps, almost forgets to gasp in mock outrage when he yanks Cameron back by the collar of his shirt. The poor boy has overnight rotations for two weeks in a row, but that night Bellamy fucks her ass for the first time.

 

It’s just another one of their games. Bellamy might make more of an effort to control his temper if he didn’t know how much it really got his girl going. If everyone thought he was an asshole because of it, he really didn’t care. Whatever Clarke likes, he likes.

 

If winter creeps up on them, then summer hits them like a train. One day they’re wearing wool sweaters and the next Clarke finds herself struggling to breathe in the oppressive heat. Her thin tank tops are stuck to her skin with sweat, and relief doesn’t come with sunset. The nights are muggy and humid, and she is only able to fall asleep after taking a dip in the lake. On the nights that she’s too tired to take the walk, Bellamy dips a rag in cool water and drags it over her body until she’s comfortable enough to fall asleep.

 

It’s a slow night in the medbay, and so her mother tells Clarke to head home. She doesn’t need to be told twice. It’s only an hour past dark, and Bellamy’s shift should be done soon. Clarke makes her way to the main gate and climbs the ladder to the command post. Miller is on duty, as well as a man she vaguely recognizes. Travis. Tyler. Something with a T. He’s roughly Bellamy’s age, used to work in the kitchens before deciding he was better suited elsewhere. Bellamy wasn’t sure how well he’d do with the guard, thought he was an arrogant prick, but decided to give him a chance.

 

“Hey, Clarke,” Miller greets her. “Bellamy’s not done with his patrol yet.”

 

“I know,” she says. “I was wondering if when he comes back, you could tell him to meet me at the lake?”

 

“You know how I love to be the intermediary for your hookups,” he says drily. “You sure you don’t want to wait for him to come back? It should only be a few minutes.”

 

“No, I’ll head there now. If I have to sit in this heat for another minute, I’ll go crazy.” Clarke starts down the ladder again. “And tell Monty to hurry up with the next batch of moonshine.”

 

Halfway to the lake, Clarke hears a rustling behind her. She turns with a smile, expecting to see Bellamy, but her grin abruptly falls when she sees the man from the guard post. _Toby_ , that’s his name. Clarke comes to a halt.

 

“Did Miller send you to follow me?” she asks bluntly.

 

“Miller? No, he doesn’t know.” Toby smiles. He shows too much teeth, and it reminds her of the pack of wild dogs they stumbled into during their first months on the ground. She subtly rests her hands on her lower back, feeling for the blade tucked into the waistband of her pants.

 

“Then why are you creeping behind me in the dark?”

 

Toby walks towards her slowly, and she takes a giant step back. “I figured this was the only way to get you alone. You know, without that guard dog boyfriend breathing down your neck.”

 

“Strange of you to pick a time where Bellamy will be coming down this same path any minute,” Clarke says. Toby laughs, a dark, choked sound that sends chills up her spine.

 

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” he says. “I figure, that guy has made my life hell ever since I joined the guard, and I’ve always thought you were a nice piece of ass, so what better way to get back at him than to take you,” he steps forward again, “right under his nose.”

 

With that, he lunges. Clarke jumps back, but his arms are long, and they wrap around her waist. He tries to drag her off the path, into the thick of the woods, but she swings an elbow back and nails him in the nose. He curses and loosens his grip, allowing her to shake him free. She reaches for the knife, has it in her grip when he ducks down and yanks at her ankle, sending her to the ground.

 

“ _Bellamy_!” Clarke yells, praying he’s out there, that he’s coming for her. Toby grabs her ankles and starts to drag her off. “Help! Someone help me! _Bellamy_!”

 

“Shut _up_ ,” Toby hisses, giving her a hard yank forward. Clarke twists, one ankle coming loose in his grip. She pulls her leg free quickly, reeling it back so that when he reaches for it again, she can land a solid kick to his chest. Toby releases her and falls to his knees, clutching his chest and gasping for air. Clarke scrambles backwards, stumbling to her feet. Still gasping, Toby staggers to his feet, is about to lunge for her again—

 

And then Bellamy is there, crashing into him and sending him to the ground again. He lands two solid punches to Toby’s face. Clarke hears a sickening crack, sees Bellamy’s fist stained with blood.

 

“Bellamy,” she says, creeping up behind him. He has his hands around Toby’s throat now, the muscles in his forearms straining as he squeezes. “Bellamy, stop!”

 

He turns to her, eyes wild. “Clarke,” he says, voice cracking. “Clarke, he tried to-”

 

“I know,” she says softly, rubbing her hand over his shoulders. “I know, baby, but you’re here. You saved me. Leave him here, and take me home.”

 

He looks like he’s going to argue, and Clarke doesn’t doubt that if she hadn’t said anything, he would have taken Toby’s life without hesitation. But he reluctantly lets the man go, his hands falling to his sides. Clarke guides him backwards, away from Toby’s unconscious form.

 

“I want to go home, Bell. Just take me home.”

 

They leave Toby cuffed around the base of a tree, just off the path. (When they get back to camp, Bellamy will tell Miller what happened, and no one will come to set him free until two days later.)

 

Clarke clings to Bellamy’s side as they walk back to camp, his arms tight around her. Her right ankle throbs, and he takes her weight, letting her lean on him. She can feel the tension radiating off his body, his muscles taut and his breaths coming short and quick. Over and over, the attack replays in her mind, and she keeps seeing Bellamy appearing out of the trees, tackling Toby to the ground. Saving her. Always there to save her.  

 

Despite her fading panic, the thoughts spur a familiar throb between her legs. She leans upward and presses a hot kiss to his throat, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse. He pauses, pulling her closer.

 

“I love you,” she murmurs, mouthing at his skin, kissing her way up to his jaw. He looks down, letting her capture his lips. “Always taking care of me. Keeping me safe.”

 

“Should’ve been there,” Bellamy murmurs, nipping her lower lip. “Never wanna let you out of my sight, baby. Love you so much.” He slots his leg between hers, letting her grind down on his upper thigh. His fingers dig into the flesh just under the swell of her ass, guiding her movements. “That turn you on?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes. “You get me so hot.”

 

 He pushes her up against a tree, running his hands under her tank to palm her breasts. There is still blood on his hands, and she feels it leave a sticky trail up her torso. She hastily unbuttons her pants, barely shoving them halfway down her thighs before she’s ripping Bellamy’s open as well. His cock is rock hard already, thick and pulsing in her hand.

 

“Need you to fuck me,” she gasps as he bites at her throat. He growls, letting go of her tits to yank her pants down all the way and spin her around. He spits into the palm of his hand, slicks up his cock before dragging it over her folds, teasing her swollen clit. “Bellamy, _I need it_.”

 

“I know, sweet thing, I know. I’ll give it to you.” He slides into her slowly, the burning stretch of taking him making her groan. “Christ, you’re always so fucking tight.”

 

“I love it when you fill me up,” she moans. He lays two fingers over her clit as he fucks into her, rubbing steady circles.

 

“I remember the first time you took my cock,” Bellamy grunts. “Think about it all the time, baby.”

 

“God, you could barely fit.” Clarke’s eyes roll back as she remembers the feeling of him splitting her open, so intense she nearly cried from it. Even after almost four years together, she still hasn’t adjusted to his size. She craves the feeling of him fucking her open, knows he’s mesmerized by the sight of her tiny pussy taking every inch of his massive cock.

 

“But you took all of me.”

 

“I did, I did,” Clarke babbles. He’s hitting her g-spot with every thrust, her breaths coming in sharp gasps. She can feel her wetness dripping down her thighs. “I’ll always take all of you, Bell. I want it all the time.”

 

“I know you do, my greedy girl.” Bellamy drags a finger over where they’re joined, coats his finger in her arousal and uses it to tease her asshole. “God, you’re so fucking wet. Making a mess all over me.”

 

“I’m close,” she gasps. “I need you to come with me. Want to feel your cum inside me, filling me up.”

 

“ _Fuck_.” He pounds into her harder, his thrusts more erratic, and she knows that he’s close, too. “Come now, baby. Let me feel it. _Fuck yes_. That’s it, _God_ , your cunt feels amazing around me.” He buries his face in her neck as he comes, and the feeling of him releasing inside of her nearly sends her over the edge again.

 

Clarke reaches back and runs her hands through his hair as they come down. “You always take such good care of me,” she whispers. “Make me feel so good. So safe.”

 

It doesn’t matter how many times she says it; Bellamy will never tire of hearing it, will never not feel a surge of pride at her words. If nothing else, he knows how to look after his girl.

 

(Nine months later, he’ll have another little girl to look after, too.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr as bilexualclarke :)


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